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Stay not, till all the lowly

Triumphant reach their home; Stay not, till all the holy

Proclaim the Lord has come.

7 & 6s. M. 689.

HEBER. Missionary Hymn. · Frou Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand, From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

2 What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile?
In vain with lavish kindness

The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness

Bows down to wood and stone.

3 Shall we, whose souls are lighted

By wisdom from on high,
Shall we to men benighted

The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation ! O salvation !

The joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth’s remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name.

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i Here to the High and Holy One

Our fathers early reared
A house of prayer, a lowly one,

Yet long to them endeared
By hours of sweet communion

Held with their covenant God, As oft, in sacred union,

His hallowed courts they trod.

2 Gone are the pious multitudes

That here kept holy time,
In other courts assembled now

For worship more sublime.
Their children, we are waiting

In meekness, Lord, thy call; Thy love still celebrating,

Our hope, our trust, our all. 3 These time-worn walls, the resting-place

So oft from earthly cares
To righteous souls now perfected,

We leave with thanks and prayers ;
With thanks, for every blessing

Vouchsafed through all the past, With prayers, thy throne addressing

For guidance to the last. 4 Though from this house, so long beloved,

We part with sadness now,
Yet here we trust with gladness soon

In fairer courts to bow:

So when our souls forsaking

These bodies, fallen and pale,
In brighter forms awaking,

With joy the change shall hail.

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1 The perfect world, by Adam trod,

Was the first temple, - built by God;
His fiat laid the corner-stone,
And heaved its pillars one by one.

2 He hung its starry roof on high,

The broad, illimitable sky;
He spread its pavement green and bright,
And curtained it with morning light.

3 The mountains in their places stood,

The sea, the sky, - and “all was good ”;
And, when its first pure praises rang,
The "morning stars together sang."

4 Lord! 't is not ours to make the sea,

And earth, and sky a house for thee;
But in thy sight our offering stands,
A humbler temple, “made with hands."

C. M.



The House our Fathers built to God.

1 We love the venerable house

Our fathers built to God;
In heaven are kept their grateful vows,

Their dust endears the sod.

2 Here holy thoughts a light have shed

From many a radiant face,
And prayers of tender hope have spread

A perfume through the place.
3 And anxious hearts have pondered here

The mystery of life,
And prayed the Eternal Spirit clear

Their doubts and aid their strife. 4 From humble tenements around

Came up the pensive train,
And in the church a blessing found,

Which filled their homes again. 5 They live with God, their homes are dust;

But here their children pray,
And, in this fleeting lifetime, trust

To find the narrow way.

L. M.



The God of the Seasons.

i Great God! let all our tuneful powers

Awake and sing thy mighty name;
Thy hand rolls on our circling hours,

The hand from which our being came. 2 Seasons and moons, revolving round

In beauteous order, speak thy praise ;
And years, with smiling mercy crowned,

To thee successive honors raise.
3 Each changing season on our souls

Its sweetest, kindest influence sheds;
And every period, as it rolls,
Showers countless blessings on our heads.

Our lives, our health, our friends, we owe
All to thy vast, unbounded love;
Ten thousand precious gifts below,
And hope of nobler joys above.

88. M. 694, HAWES.

1 The winter is over and gone,

The thrush whistles sweet on the spray,
The turtle breathes forth her soft moan,

The lark mounts and warbles away. 2 Shall every creature around

Their voices in concert unite,
And I, the most favored, be found

In praising to take less delight?
3 Awake, then, my harp, and my lute!

Sweet organs, your notes softly swell!
No longer my lips shall be mute,
The Saviour's high praises to tell.

4 His love in my heart shed abroad,

My graces shall bloom as the spring;
This temple, his Spirit's abode;
My joy as my duty to sing.

C. M.


1 Wuey verdure clothes the fertile vale,

And blossoms deck the spray,
And fragrance breathes in every gale,

How sweet the vernal day!

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